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Playing with Puppets
"So, you're the new guy on the strip, you said?" "Indeed I am, good sir. Spent a large amount of my savings on this small establishment, I just hope it pays its dividends, yeah?" "Of course, as I'd imagine." The owner stared at the men, unbeknownst to be the infamous godfather himself. "Though, I don't think this is a very good spot for such a building. Isn't there another gambling lot only a little ways away?" "Yeah, but.. well, between you and me I think the place back there is rigged. Way too many people lose way too much money way too quickly, does that make sense?" "Right, of course." He pulls his finger to his mouth, lightly gnawing on it. "You know, the one back there is run by a little bit of a ruthless mastermind." The man grunts. "I've been dreading the thought of that. Lower payouts is how I hope they'll keep off my back, the rich will keep going to that one place, Ab.. Ablar's.. oh hell, I dunno what it's called. I was never a gambling man, but I'm not opposed to taking advantage of someone else's addiction." "Class act." "Gotta make money somehow, don't I?" "..Can't fault you there, I suppose. I guess I'm not terribly moral with my money-making, either." "And what do you do for a living?" "I, well, it's a bit interesting. A little bit with.. money transferring." "Banking?" "On occasion. More of a case-by-case basis, I suppose." "I see. So what did you say your name was, again?" "Eh, that's not terribly important, is it?" "Why are you dodging the question?" "It's not a question I wanna answer, okay?" "Why don't you wanna answer it?" The two stare each other down, before the godfather snaps. "Now. Light it up." The door behind him blasts open, a crazed shooter pointing straight at the owner, a girl to his side holding a bundle of dynamite in one hand and a lit match in the other. "Mister Vernon I believe your 'establishment' is infringing on my assets, and I'll have to ask you to pack it up and leave, before you entirely finish construction. You're on my turf, as it were." He looks on, stunned at the display before him. "So you're..?" "Yes, I am." He lifts his finger, the gunman lining his eyes down the barrel of the gun towards the owner's head. "And I'd recommend you answer soon, Mister Vernon. It'd be a terrible shame for something to happen to your savings, wouldn't it?" He sighs. "Fine." "Good!" He snaps again, the gunman grumbling and bringing the Thompson to his side. "It's always nice to see such a compliant fellow, I'll make sure you see some good medical benefits in your future, as well." "Medical benefits?" He questions, until it hits him. "You and Doctor Burf are-" "Indeed we are. It makes me happy you didn't feel the need to resist, otherwise your next checkup may have been a tad more uncomfortable, breaks ol' Burfy's heart when someone doesn't work with him or his associates." "..The rumors are true then, aren't they? You really do have your fingers everywhere around this city." "Of course, how else do you think I've gotten away with so much?" He chuckles and stands from his seat. "Well, now that that's done, I must be on my way. It's been a pleasure meeting with you, Mister Vernon, and I hope we may be a tad closer in the future." He steps outside the room and exits the building. "Can't I just shoot him right in the-" "No." The girl buts in, "What if I-" "No." The two drop their eyebrows, embittered in disappointment. "Oh please, if I let you two kill everyone you wanted we wouldn't have half the people we do now, would we? You two would have a lot less money for your honeymoon!" He laughs, tossing a coin. The three step through the clubhouse doors. "I told you we don't need to plan everything, Pepper." She rolls her eyes and droops back down to her book. "Oh, and Sassilia. The competitor is dealt with, he'll be going a far elsewhere with his activities. Can't have the most consistent source of cash and playmates be lost on me, can I?" "Of course not. Thanks for changing his mind, Godfather." He walks upstairs into his penthouse, shutting the door quietly behind him. His office is his definition of perfect; bookshelves for any form of reading if he ever saw fit. His own desk, far better than that of that disgusting Director Adkins. What a boring desk; his was far better, a golden-yellow lining across a red mat covering the center of the desk, a cup of pens, a small stapler and a stack of blank sheets of paper. He never used any of them, but they looked nice and formal. He stepped over to his bookcase and shoved it to the side, opening up a back hallway, very dimly lit. He begins to walk down, humming to himself, slowly becoming more malevolent in his tone. He pushes open a dingy door and looks inside at the man on the ground. His eyes are dead, drool dripping from his mouth and pooling around his head. "Good afternoon." The body turns its eyes up towards him, then drops them back to normal, not moving a single other muscle. "Talkative as always." He sits down and snaps towards his side. "Come." The man gets on his knees and shuffles over, then sits down. "That last little bit of resistance finally left you, didn't it?" He nods. "Good. I love a new playmate." He chuckles, stroking the man's cheek. "You'll be a wonderful little spy for me too, won't you?" The man nods again. "Fantastic. We're going to sneak you out during the night so the others don't know, can't have them dropping hints about any potential rats in my more.. personal affairs. Until then, here's your reward." The godfather drops the man a small bag, inside the man rips out a sandwich and a small thermos, downing the small bit of drink and food in mere moments. "There's more where that will come from if you do your job well." The man looks on, still dead-eyed. "You even remembered not to respond unless I told you." He chuckles. "Wonderful. I'll be back in a few hours for you. Don't get too active without me, Fravardin. Oops- did I say your name? I forgot, you don't have one." He laughs and shuts the door, walking out, exiting the tunnel and pushing the bookcase back behind him.